I was running my register when this loser, degenerate, this thirty-five year old dirt-bag stoner with his knuckles all bloody and busted up and bandaged, came through the line and bought his sody pop and chips—can’t even eat like a man. I say, “Thank you, have a nice day, sir” and he just stops and stands there.

He’s looking at these two pretty young girls that got in line behind him, just stares at them and then asks, “When did you graduate?”—like he’s twenty! Ooooh, perverts make me go off!

This looser has got to be thirty-five—and let me tell you, he lived many of them years hard, in the gutter. And these girls—they feel a little uncomfortable, but are trying to be courteous—and start to answer him and I stop ‘em.

[Puts hand out like a traffic officer]

“Whoa, you don’t have to answer him! You girls don’t just talk to some strange man—look at how he’s looking at you, can barely keep his tongue off the floor.”

Then I turned to that loser [Points finger at chest] and said, “Sir, you’re done here. Go down the street and pick on someone your own age—go on!”

He shuffled off—fucking retarded looser.

I told those girls that you can’t let strange men talk to you like that. This isn’t some GI Jane bullshit—feminism ends when the TV show’s over. When some greasy man puts his paws on you, it’s on! Hell, I’m a hard-headed Polack and I walk in fear. I don’t know what the hell these girls are being taught these days but it sure isn’t staying alive. Jiminy Cricket, if I could just take an axe after a sick fuck when I saw ‘im it’d be a better world, that’s for sure.

-Megan, 1/20/18

A Fighter’s View of Predatory Aggression: The Forever Autumn Press Edition